Hours Later
by quadi9
Summary: Harry, it seemed, was holding on for his life, and Ron certainly was not letting go anytime soon.' - a look inside the desperate friendship of Harry and Ron.


Hours Later

by: Sarah Katherine

-disclaimer- _I'm JK Rowling, dontcha know? Ha! You gullible twit._

**Genre:** Angst/Romance

**Rating:** Hard PG-13 -- R just to be safe. Contains heavy language and slash. Get over it.

**Pairing:** HP/RW

**Author's Note:** This is my first fiction in a great long while. The urge to write has been biting me in the ass lately, so feel free to rape ... I mean reap the benefits of this sudden leak in the Writer's Block Dam. Oh, and do be a doll and Review -- though flames will be used to heat my bath water.

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Ron quietly pulled the hangings from around his bed, and pushed himself gracelessly off the matress. Bare feet meeting with frigid stone flooring caused Ron to let out a loud hiss, and he dared hope that he hadn't awoken anyone. Silencing himself abruptly, he listened closely for any sign of an awakening room-mate. Though everyone had tightly closed bed-hangings, Ron could still hear Dean's heavy breathing, Neville's indistinguishable mutterings and Seamus' habitual tossing and turning. 'And all was well in the Dome', Ron thought cynically to himself, and continued on without a second thought to the pitcher of water.

Pouring himself a small glass, he allowed his mind to wander along the lines of confusion. How would this war end, who would die, would it ever end, did they even stand a chance against Voldemort? Shivering at that last thought, he quickly finished off his water and placed the glass ontop of the other used cups.

Yawning briefly, he walked towards his bed, scratching a bit at his nose (a habit he'd picked up during times of stress) and glanced nonchalantly at the crimson hangings of his best friends bed. Ron knew, vaguely, that Harry was still having nightmares -- more so lately, due to the on-coming threat of the Dark Lord and his vast array of demented minions. For the brief time that Harry had stayed with the Weasely household, it was nothing for Harry to get zero sleep throughout the night and arrive for breakfast in the morning looking thorougly harassed and shot. On occasion, however, Harry did seem to sleep, though never peacefully. He would wake up at odd hours of the night, talking to himself, kicking in his sleep: things of that nature.

As of late, though, the nightmares seemed to have just stopped. Ron no longer found himself waking up at Harry's desperate cries, only going back to sleep when he was sure Harry had waken himself up and temporarily freed himself from the grasp of the horrible dreams. Of course, Ron would offer comfort and support every now and again, but Harry never accepted it. He hated the notion of anyone caring for him where his dreams were concerned, and boldly punctuated that fact everytime he told Ron to sod off and go back to bed. Ron, of course, never took it personally -- Harry just didn't like to be babied.

Ron found himself stock still in silent reverie between his and Harry's bed. Had the nightmares truly stopped? He heard no noise, no cry ... not a thing. Perhaps Harry was finally free of the damned things. Just perhaps? 'That can't be right', Ron thought to himself. 'If anything, wouldn't they be getting stronger, what with Voldemorts strength rising and what not -- Right?' Shaking his head in frustration, and vaguely hearing his mother's voice inside his head ('Curiosity killed the cat, dear.') he closed the space between himself and Harry's bed with a few quick steps. Taking a deep breath, the found the break in the curtains, and pulled them apart slightly, as not to scare the boy, were he found to be awake.

And there he was! Lying as plain as day, asleep it seemed, was Harry Potter: rolled over on his side, facing Ron, eyes shut tightly. Sometime in the night, Harry looked to have kicked the comforter off his body, and Ron saw to it that it was placed back on top of the boy. Grabbing the edges of the dark red duvet, he disentangled Harry's feet from the spread, and wrapped it snuggly around the boy's body. Leaning in closely to tuck the edges closer to Harry's person, Ron heard Harry lightly moan. Mentally kicking himself in the nads, Ron carefully stood up as to not further disrupt Harry's, for once, seemingly peaceful sleep.

Moving to close Harry's bed hangings once more, Ron noticed Harry's eyes seem to squint, and then relax once again. Over and over his eyes did this, and Ron was quite sure that wasn't normal. Abandoning his stance at the edge of the bed, Ron took a seat on the small space between Harry's body and the edge of the bed. He contemplated waking his friend up -- but what if he was just having a pleasant dream? At that thought, Ron mentally snorted. When was the last time Harry ever had a pleasant dream? Could it have been when Cedric haunted Harry's sleep, repeadetly blaming Harry for his death? Or perhaps it was even when his parents popped into his nights, merely screamed obscenities at him for being such a horrible child, such a disgrace to the family? Ron's mind began to run rampant with all the different scenarios of Harry's nightmares, and would've continued in the same fashion, were not for the suddenly moving body in front of him. Without warning, Harry started to stir violently; he began to mutter, loudly; he then began to pant, ramble, moan, and finally scream.

Ron, acting on impulse, screwed Harry's curtains together as fast he could possibly could, and cast the heaviest Silencing Charm he knew around the four corners of Harry's bed. He didn't want the others waking up in all the confusion, asking questions, making things more difficult than they were surely about to get.

Harry rolled over onto his other side, his back now to Ron, and murmured incoherently to himself about something or other. Ron stared for a moment, dimly wondering what the dream was about. Ron forced himself to snap out of his thoughts as Harry began to shake forcefully, his twitching hands suddenly grasping, hard, at his forehead. However, not ten seconds after this upset had begun, Harry grew quiet. Still. His hands, still on his forehead, grew limp; not even the rise and fall of breath occured, and this instilled a worm of fear into Ron's already frantic mind. A passing thought of 'The calm before the storm ...' came to pass.

Ron hazily thought out the consequences of awaking Harry from his nightmare, but didn't find himself caring one wit about them. Grasping him by the shoulders, Ron pushed Harry down towards the matress, and held tightly as Harry began to try and throw him off. Ron held all the more tigher, achoring himself with his knee between Harry's kicking legs.

"Harry." he whispered sternly in the boys left ear, trying to not to raise his voice in a manner that would surely cause him to struggle even more. Harry simply thrashed all the harder, nearly whacking Ron one upside the head. Ron released his hold on Harry's shoulders, only to grab at his struggling hands and force them above his head, down on the pillow, and out of harm's way. "Damnit Harry," he whispered a little harsher this time, thinking he could possibly scare the boy awake, "you wake the fuck up right now." Harry continued to thrash, though with a little less force and ferocity than before. His breathing became lighter and he was no longer screaming. Ron noticed this difference with great interest and relief, though the latter left him quite quickly as a new sound rose to his ears. As Harry began to cease his struggle, Ron could hear a sonance that he wasn't quite used to -- Harry was crying.

Releasing his death grip on Harry's wrists, he realised that Harry was now awake, and painfully so. Whether it was out of shame or despair, Harry turned his back to Ron, and covered his face with his trembling hands. Ron was still partially caught between Harry's legs, but that wasn't of any concern to him at the moment. With his thigh resting atop Harry's frighteningly bony hip, Ron layed down lightly behind his best friend, and held him tightly about the waist. Very near tears himself, Ron tried his damnedest to comfort him. "Shh, Harry.", he whispered in the crying boy's ear, "Please ... just tell me what you want. Are you hurt? It's only me, please let me help you, shhh, don't cry, please ...." He rambled on with his sweet nothings, until Harry eventually seemed to finally find himself at peace -- for the moment.

Sniffing quietly, Harry's surprisingly calm voice broke through the chilly night air. "I'm sorry ... I didn't mean to wake you. Charm must've not worked properly. Once again, I fail to even cover my own tracks properly." Harry stated, his voiced dry and filled with an undeniable self-loathing. "Oh gods ... did I wake anyone else up? I don't want them to ask questions, for fuck's sake, why can't I even do a simple Silencing charm?" Harry continued on with his babbling, and Ron moved closer to the boy in his arms.

"What do you mean? You placed a Silencing Ch... ooh." It suddenly hit Ron as to why he hadn't heard a so much as a light snore from Harry's bed, and he lazily remembered casting his own Silencing charm before Harry had reached the climax of his nightmare. "Don't worry, you didn't wake anyone up -- I was up getting water, and ... uhm, decided to look, uh ... look in ... on you ." Ron trailed off, feeling slightly stupid for his lame response.

Harry stiffened. "Oh." Was all that could be heard from the boy. And then -- "Why in the bloody Hell did you feel the need to look in on ME?!? It's not as though I needed your help. I was doing quite fine on my own, thank you, and I don't need anyone's fucking help, especially not yours!" Harry practically yelled, trying his best to forcefully turn and face Ron, but only succeeding in colliding with his chest. Ron, on the other hand, found this the perfect opportunity to tell Harry just where to go and how to get there.

Keeping his left arm firmly around Harry's waist, he used his right arm to prop himself up and look Harry directly in the eyes. "Oh, fer Merlin's sake, would you get the fuck over it? It's not as though it's so hard to believe that people actually care about you! I was only worried about you because I hadn't heard a damn thing from your bed in ages -- not a snore, cough, deep breath, nothing! Bloody Hell, you used to keep me up at night with your bloody snoring!" Ron saw Harry smirk at this. "And furthermore, don't get your panties in a wad because I'm trying to help you out! If you want to tell me what's going on in that big head of yours, I'm all ears; if you don't want to talk, I s'pose that's fine as well -- just at least let me help you with something!" Ron felt as though a huge weight had been lifted off of his chest, but realised quite well that their verbal sparring match was nowhere near finished.

" 'What's going on in my BIG head', aye? So now I'm fucking big-headed? Is THAT what you're trying to say, ickle Ronnekins?!" Harry nearly screamed, pushing himself up closer to Ron's face, looking him dead in the eye. Ron, however, found himself speechless -- not by the fact that Harry was being completely uncooperative, or even the fact that he had called him 'ickle Ronnekins'. But was it really so hard for Harry to accept help from anyone else? Surely he wasn't so used to being the hero that ... oh dear. It seemed Ron had bigger problem on his hands than expected.

"Harry--"

"Shut up Ro--"

"No, you fucking shut up and listen for a minute!" Harry's eyes widened slightly, but settled back into the deep glare that was his custom in times of fury. "I didn't mean that you were big-headed, or that you had a big head -- I was only trying to joke around." Harry rolled his eyes at this. "And furthermore, you've got to quit keeping me in the dark about these nightmares of yours. I understand that you're going to want to keep some things to yourself, and that's perfectly alright. But I can't keep on, day in and day out, worrying nonsense about you. If you'd only just tell me what's going on -- or how to help you, then maybe I'd--"

"You know how you can help me?" Harry asked quietly. Ron cocked his head to the right side, glaring inquisitively at Harry.

"... How?"

Harry leaned even closer and, titling his head forward just a bit, whispered silkily, "By leaving me the fuck alone." Ron raised an eyebrow and chuckled lightly, much to the dismay of Harry. His voice wavering slightly, Harry demanded, "How is ... how is that funny? Is it so wrong to just want to be left alone? For once, in my whole damned life, can't I just be left alone?!" Harry struggled to release himself from Ron's grasp but, failing utterly, let out a weak gasp and a sigh. "Please ... Ron, I don't need anything." Ron knew he was lying -- Harry knew Ron knew he was lying. Harry squeezed his eyes shut and willed himself not to cry. Once again, however, it was to no avail. Salty tears seemed to find their way from under Harry's tight eye-lids, and down his cheeks.

Ron pulled himself up into a sitting position, and gently gathered the crying boy to his chest. It seemed that was all it took for the dam in Harry's soul to collapse, and with it brought and the onslaught of tears he'd been holding in since ... who knew how long? This time, Harry didn't struggle. He buried his face in the crook of Ron's neck as Ron silenced Harry's confused hands with his own. "I'm such a fucking idiot ... I don't understand why all of this is happening ... I can't stay awake forever and I try to block everything out and nothing work and I'msosorryI'msuchafuckinassholesometimes ..." Harry babbled all at once, while lacing his fingers with Ron's. Their hands gripped --hard. Harry, it seemed, was holding on for his life, and Ron certainly was not letting go anytime soon.

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Hours later, a light drizzle had started up outside.

Hours later found Ron propped up against the massive oak headboard with an exhausted Harry held tightly in his arms. Every now and again, Harry would stiffen considerably, or let out a light moan; Ron gave him quiet reassurance with light kisses placed here and there.

Hours later, Harry was finally at peace.

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**Ending Note:** I'm absolutely apalled at myself; never in my life have I written anything that damn sappy. Sheesh! Anyhoo ... I do hope you little dears enjoyed yourselves. All the credit, however, goes clearly to my Joy Divsion CD, the half a pack of cigarettes I smoked while writing this and my darling who called me in the middle of the night, thusly putting myself in a quite the word-abundant mode. SO! That, being said, I have but one request: REVIEW!


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